an Apparition to Cosette
by caudelac
Summary: A bittersweet, but cute so far love story. Really. Eponine and Cosette talk, and more. Jean Valjean is snookered. Reviews & feedback desired and luved on.
1. An Apparition to Cosette

**Part I**

It was not until Marius had left that Cosette saw the wraith.  
It seemed to her a flickering thing, swept about with dark tendrils that might have been hair; dancing like a wil-o-the-wisp not far beyond the garden gate. She had lingered there, flushed in memory of her recent visitor, when the apparition startled her. Furthermore, she thought the mist-borne creature somehow familiar. She leaned into the fence.  


"Hello?" She called to the spirit. The spirit froze for a full moment; threatened flight. "Don't be afraid!" Cosette's voice arrested the creature's movements once more. "Come here!"  


Hesitant as an alley cat, the wraith- ah! It was small, and female- approached the gate, crouching in the shadows just out of reach, should the lady try to grab at her. But such, at the moment, was not Cosette's intention.  


"Hello!" She repeated, pleasantly enough. "And who are you now?"  


Still tentative, the girl-thing hovered in the darkness. When she spoke her voice was oddly deep and rough, and it seemed to come from closer than the figure appeared. She said,  


"I'm Eponine. I already know who you are."  


"Oh!" Cosette was a little surprised at that. The name 'Eponine', too rang familiar in her ears. But she was curious about this well-informed creature. "Step closer so that I can see you." The shadow-girl shook her head and retreated a step or two. Cosette could not contain a small laugh at that, and a very pretty one too. "Are you afraid of me then? You needn't be. Here, come into the garden and talk to me." She moved the bar through which Marius had entered and exited. A sharp intake of breath from the indecisive grey mist-figure, then, resolutely, it darted through the bars and stood to face Cosette fully. The latter's intake of breath was just as sharp.   


"Why then! You're that artist's daughter! Ahh... Fabantou! I thought that I recognized you!" And Cosette clapped her hands with delight, "Well, that explains how you knew me, then. But fie! Your clothes! What happened to the new ones that Father and I brought you?"  


Eponine, now plainly visible before the exquisite other girl, was flush with embarrassment in her rags and bare shoulders; matted hair and dirty face. She managed to reply,  


"Things don't last long where I'm from." It seemed to her that the dirt of her skin and clothes almost burned. it did not help that the young lady was, Eponine thought, even more beautiful and fine than when she had come to her house the day she'd been thrown in the pen. Cosette, oblivious to Eponine's embarrassment, was moved to ferocious pity.  


"You poor thing! You're my age, are you not? And not much smaller! I certainly have some things- nice things- that will fit you. Come with me!" Cosette seized the wraith's hand; the latter jerked away in alarm.  


"I don't think that wise." At the moment, Eponine was seized by many conflicting emotions; foremost of which was that the old Man- the rich father- would be home and recognise her. Cosette paused, frowning.  


"Shall I fetch the things and bring them to you?" Eponine considered telling this little lady what to do with her charity, but Cosette's pretty voice flowed on, with no room for interruption, "No, that will never do! You'll fly before I return without a doubt! And besides, how would you look in a good, proper dress with your hair and face thus? No! We must clean you up, and you must come with me." Cosette clasped Eponine's hand again; this time, Eponine did not pull away. She was distracted by some faraway thought, and Cosette was unquenchably chattering, "You know, I am rather glad that you appeared as you did. It will be fun to play dress-up with someone, most certainly." She giggled, "And you are really very nice looking. I think that with a clean face, and in a proper dress, you could be quite lovely." That made Eponine start. _She_ could be lovely? The idea! and then, she asked herself, 'Why did I stay after Monsieur Marius left?' She found herself being led towards the house, her benefactress continuing her babble in the same vein and making Eponine's head spin. But when they got to the door, panic got the better of Eponine, and she halted.  


"One moment-" She caught Cosette's shoulder suddenly, startling her, "Your father- is he in the house?" Cosette furrowed her brow.  


"No- he lives in the back yard. But he is on a walk at the moment anyway. Did you wish to speak to him?" Eponine shuddered at the thought. She had heard something from Monteparnasse and others what had taken place in the apartment that evening that her father was arrested, and the fact that the old man had escaped before he could be questioned was to her, as it had been to Javert, telling. Since she had been the one who had lured the unsuspecting gentleman into the Jondrette Lair, she feared to ever meet him again. To Cosette, she replied in a low voice,   


"Please mademoiselle, do not tell your father that I was here! Do not mention me to him! Will you do that for me?" confused by the urgent and fear-filled tone in the girl's voice, Cosette replied with a dainty frown,  


"Why ever not?" 

It occurred to Eponine that Monsieur Rich-fellow had not told his daughter of what had occurred during his second visit that evening; she replied vaguely,  


"My father, you see, is in La Force- in prison Mademoiselle. It would not do to have the man who took such pity on us and was so kind to hear of it- do you understand? Or, perhaps he has already heard, and then, he would certainly not want his daughter to be seen with a girl," She lowered her voice even further, "whose father was a convict and who had seen the inside of Les Maledonnettes." If the admission startled the lady, it also steeled her resolve to help Eponine- although she did agree not to mention the visit to her father, whom she did not expect to see until breakfast anyway. Eponine fairly melted with relief.  


"Merci mademoiselle!" She sighed, letting Cosette lead her by the waist up the stairs. Cosette, did not fear of waking Toussaint, who slept like a rock.  


"No need of that," Cosette blushed faintly as they reached the top of the stairs, "And please, you will stay here tonight. Like a slumber party! Oh, that will be nice... but you mustn't call me mademoiselle; you must call me Cosette."  


in Eponine's head, the thunder crashed.  



	2. The results of reminiscance and a bath

**Part II:** The results of reminiscance and a bath  


* * *

Cosette! She knew that name! As Cosette guided Eponine into her room, Eponine took a good, long look at her. But... it had been so long ago... Eponine thought of the old man, Cosette's (she tried to accustom herself to thinking that name again) father, and of the man with the doll nearly ten years ago... and stared with scarce hidden wonder and something else. 

"Could it be?" She whispered aloud, "That it's the Lark?" Cosette, who had made a beeline for the closet after depositing Eponine on the bed, caught that last and was held by it, for some unfathomable reason.

"What did you say?" She asked, regarding this girl once again with the most intense curiosity. Eponine felt herself blushing again, and stammered,

'I wondered... I mean, I thought..." She cut herself off; picked at the hem of her tattered skirt, "You remind me of someone who used to live with my family years ago. They called her the Lark."

"Lark...?" Cosette's face became unreadable; her expression resembled the one, if only Eponine had seen it, worn by Jean Valjean in the Jondrette lair, when faced with much the same revelation. Something ugly had begun to creep up in Cosette's thoughts; Eponine, absorbed in her skirt, did not notice and continued,  
"She was a girl that lived in our house," Repeated Eponine, "Mother didn't like her. But she did chores and fetched water and made our socks. And Mother and Father got paid to keep her. Then one day this man comes to us, in an ugly yellow jacket, and he's brought this doll... the most beautiful doll in the world. My sister 'Zelma and I had longed for that doll for ages... and this man, he comes and he brings that doll, and he gives it to the Lark. And the next day they left." Eponine chanced a glance at Cosette, who still wore her father's expression. She had mouthed 'Catherine,' when Eponine mentioned the Doll, but Eponine had not seen. "When you said your name was Cosette- well, that was the Lark's name too, so I thought..." She looked again at Cosette's face, which, as the young lady was not, in fact, Jean Valjean, had begun to waver, and all doubt left her. "So I guess I thought right. Lucky chance, that, then?" Cosette leaned against the wall for a minute, to support herself, then carefully placed herself on the bed next to the blushing waif.

"Then you are not Fabantou? You are Eponine..." The next name came up, filled with fear and whispered like that of a demon one might perhaps summon with a careless pronunciation, "Thénardier?" Eponine nodded.

"It really is you then. Well." Most of her composure returned, Eponine's look was as curious as Cosette's had been, and level. "You're come up in the world, then."

No small amount of anger, envy, and contempt lay in those words, but Cosette heard none of it. What was evident to her was the pain and bitter sadness, and a little bit of something else... the new-feathered lark was moved to tears.

"Oh 'Ponine!" She cried, throwing her arms around the startled creature, "I'm so sorry! I know that it wasn't your fault... and now look! Oh, how often have I wished damnation on the Thénardiers, and now that I know that my wish has come true, I feel all the worse for it." She sobbed into the bewildered Eponine's shoulder, the latter found her arms full and her brain reeling. Cosette raised her tear-streaked face and blubbered on, "Oh! And Azelma! That was her with the cut hand! Oh my goodness, I do remember! Oh..." And again with the sobbing. Eponine did not know how to respond to that, but her instinct was to stroke the girl's hair and coo softly to her, as to a child. All hate was gone, all fear and all contempt- but Something prevented her. She felt lightheaded, and murmured instead,

"Please, you'll get your dress dirty." Having gone a little crazy. Cosette pulled away, her red eyes took on a determined cast as they tried to stem their tide. 

"Now Eponine," She said firmly, wiping her wet eyes on her sleeve, "we must draw you a proper bath." Eponine blinked.

"A bath?" She echoed dumbly. Her thoughts flew like so many larks just out of cages, and each time she looked on Cosette was like seeing her anew.

"Yes!" Cosette was resolute, "I said that we were going to clean you up and I meant it. Come."

Dazedly, Eponine took her hostesses hand again and followed her to the toilette. She had the peculiar sensation of being disembodied; watching her entire experience from a few feet above her head, while her body was dealt with below. Her rags, having been held on with luck and a few threads, disintegrated beneath Cosette's fingers. Eponine wore no underthings, which seemed to scandalize the other girl.

"We-well..." She stammered a little awkwardly at Eponine's sudden nudity, but quickly recovered, "we shall just have to remedy _that_ as well." For Eponine's part, it still seemed as if she was watching her naked self standing in this sumptuous bathroom, surrounded by frills and lace, watching Cosette draw the tub of water (oh, what past-echoes!, and watching herself immersed in it. As she was relatively useless, (and hopelessly overwhelmed) Cosette was responsible for bathing her. The touch of the cloth and sponge beneath Cosette's fingers drew Eponine at the same time closer and further from herself. For now, while she felt perhaps ten feet above her body, she could feel eerie sensation amplified, from the tiniest movement of the sponge, to the thousand gentle eddies of water about her skin. She blushed deeply when Cosette's fingertip grazed her bare stomach, but the latter, intent upon her work, did not notice.

"Um, Cosette," Said Eponine suddenly, starling Cosette so that she jumped, a little. She paused in her scrubbing, and, a little giddily, Eponine noticed that her hands shook. 

"What?" She replied, not looking at her patient's face. Ah... she was still crying, silently. Eponine licked her lips and spoke,

"Do you remember," Began Eponine slowly, "the game that we used to play in those days?"

"What? Game? I don't remember ever being allowed to play with you." She squeezed the cloth tightly, her knuckles white. Eponine, afraid that she might burst into sobs again, put a wet hand on her arm, then drew it away quickly when she realized the water would ruin the fine silk.

"Oh! Your dress!" She exclaimed, Cosette, who had given those sorts of practical concerns no thought, stood again, and, with a sort of distracted gravity, removed her dress, put it in the other room, and resumed crouching in her slip. 

The presence of a slip was a mild shock to Eponine; less so than her lack of one had been to Cosette. Eponine felt dreadfully bare and awkward, more so than if Cosette had been actually nude. Nevertheless, she attempted to resume the pattern of her previous thought. 

"Only one game, and we didn't play it often- we might have gotten caught." She managed a little bit of a smile, "A silly thing- funny that I should recall it now. I would get my hands on one of mother's romances, and 'Zelma, you and I would all act them out... do you remember that? We had to include you, because we needed you to be the hero. 'Zelma and I would trade off between the girl and the villain, because our brother was too little. Do you remember that? How funny!" And Eponine laughed a little, hoarsely. Cosette, wringing her cloth, remained silent, the tears on her face beginning to dry but her expression still a bit pained. She had forgiven this girl out loud, but her heart was in turmoil. And other questions assaulted her- what was this girl doing outside her gate? Why the panic at the thought of meeting her father? When had she become such a woman? That last thought arose perhaps because Cosette _did_ indeed remember the game of which Eponine had spoken; the memory burst in her mind like grapeshot and gave birth to a new, strange expression. Tears completely gone, she regarded very carefully the dripping Eponine, half-clean and dressed in only soap and perfumed water. "Almost Pretty." Cosette's eyes told her. But she was not thinking with just her eyes. Eponine stared at her, unable to fathom the meaning of that strange look. It was particularly disconcerting on Cosette's angelic face; discordant, almost. But she saw quite clearly the face o the girl she had so ignored and abused all throughout their childhoods, and wondered that she had not recognized her before.

"I remember that." Said Cosette finally, and her voice sounded just not quite as deep as Eponine's, "It was..." she hesitated over a word she was loath to associate with her time at the Waterloo inn, "fun. I cannot believe that there was ever fun..."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's OK." Continued Cosette, "I remember. I was included. It was..." And she trailed off, blushing suddenly "Do you remember..."

"The Rouge and the Wedding?" Eponine blushed too, for the same memory had occurred to her simultaneously. Cosette was a semi-permanent pink; one hand rested lightly on the edge of the basin, the other at her throat. Suddenly Eponine, in an exaggerated voice, cried out, 

"Oh alas! I fear my love is too late! Oh hurry, sweet prince and carry me away on your noble steed, lest I be forced to marry the hideous old Baron! Ah- he is old and decrepit, his fingers chill like ice and his breath smells of onions! Oh wilt thou come, my lord, on thy brave white steed with wings of flame and rescue me from this dismal fate?" Cosette laughed and continued the dialogue, 

"Gallop, gallop!" She imitated a galloping horse, "I am here, O Lady, O love! Come, to my stirrup! O thou art light as a feather and as comely as a dove! I will carry thee from this vile place, and thou shalt be my bride, if you can love a highwayman!?" Eponine, too, laughed at Cosette's affected drawl and dramatic sweeps of her arms. in response, Eponine batted her eyelashes and made her voice as simpering as she could,

"Oh my hero! Oh my brave and gallant knight! Thou are the son of a king, and no highwayman to my heart, but that thou hast stolen it. Oh how I have looked for thee, in whom I see all sweetness and light! But Alors! here is that foul baron! he will not let me go! Oh my Love, my Prince, save me!" Eponine gasped elegantly and clasped her hands over her heart- "And then Azelma would come in with a fake sword for the fight scene, and complain because she didn't see why the bad guy had to lose..."

"And then you would stamp your foot and protest that Lisette was *NOT* going to marry the old Baron, and in the end we'd have to kill each other at the same time and do a dual death scene!" Cosette laughed merrily, "How well do I remember!" She struck a dramatic pose, hand pressed against he forhead in mock swoon, "Oh! My light fades! Come to me my beautiful Lisette, that I may look on thee once more; that the last thing I should see in mortal life be thy shining face." Eponine exclaimed in mock-sob, and seized Cosette's hand from the rim of the tub, 

"Oh Armand! Please do not go! Oh woe, oh fie, I shall be lost if thou diest! Oh my soul, oh my prince, kiss me now, kiss me thy last, and we shall not be parted long, I swear it!"

"Oh that the last thing I feel on this earth be thy lips! What bliss! I would go to hell a happy man, my sweet, splendid dove!"

"And I with thee, But kiss me now!" Eponine closed her eyes and puckered her lips. And Cosette, entirely caught up in the act, pulled Eponine to her and complied with Lisette's request. 


	3. On hearts, full of love or anything else

**part III:** On hearts, full of love or anything else. 

* * *

It was a while later, even after the kiss ended, that either of them spoke. Eponine sat still in the bath, her hand hovering a few centimeters from her mouth. She could not keep her eyes from Cosette, neither could she look at her. From time to time, her tongue would dart out and touch her lips curiously, as if tasting something unbelievable and strange. She was entirely in her body now, and though she wanted very much to regain the feeling of floating, she did not know how. In a sort of insane compromise with her senses, she stared at Cosette's right hand where it lay, forgotten in the girl's lap, folded across the other. She dazed, considered that this very hand had so lately been tangled in her own tangled hair, and, guiltily, tried with little success to find somewhere else to look.

Cosette, for her part, suddenly remembered several things at once, and it was taking her some time to sort through them. if she looked at Eponine or at the wall she could not later have said; her vision was all introspective. For starters, it had occurred to her-- it was this shock ended the kiss, after all-- that this, here, was the second real kiss of her life. And quite quickly, the memory of the first kiss, not three hours old, and how she had come by it returned, and she had been struck with guilt. Well, of course, this was not the first time she had kissed Eponine-- why, that was the inevitable end result of their games-- but not like this. Those were child-kisses, bereft of all but the barest counterfeits of passion, but all the more scandalous and exciting for that. Why had she now kissed Eponine-- Ponine of old, no less!-- in the manner... she blushed, and the hand that Eponine had found so fascinating fluttered to her throat and back... in the manner of a lover? Especially when she had just, that evening, kissed Marius so? Was it perhaps residual emotion from his visit; he had shown her how, and she was now eager to practice? Not at all, her body said resolutely. She thought then that had he not come, had it just been Eponine, that would have made no difference. The next thing she remembered concerned rumors-- whispers overheard in her convent days, when the mothers were not listening. Certain girls who shared secret looks and called each other 'Dearest Sister'. Tales of these things which she had not till now connected with the games she had used to play with Eponine. Who-- she became conscious of looking on the girl now; Eponine's glance darted away-- was, really, very pretty. And still naked. That bit of awareness hit Cosette at the same time as two other, equally poignant enlightenments: that she was clad in but her slip (soaked through, besides!) and that she wanted, very much, to kiss Eponine again. She was thinking of how best to accomplish this when the silence was broken by her intended target.

"Are you in love with Monsieur Marius Pontmercy?" Of all things, Cosette had not been expecting that, and guilt got her again. She found herself thinking of his kiss-- how smooth his cheek! How soft his lips and hair! But Eponine's cheek was smoother, her lips softer; her hair, though wet, as well. For it occurred to her with a start-- Marius rather resembled a girl, but Eponine was, in fact, a really truly girl. Only her voice was perhaps more mannish than Marius'. Did she love him then? She had certainly said so. The notebook he had written her lay in her dress. Ahh... she sighed, those lovely things he had said-- how he did profess to love her! What a dear, sweet boy was he! She regarded Eponine with a small blush and no small confusion. 

"I..." Something else occurred to her, "Do you know Monsieur Marius?" Now it was Eponine's turn to blush.

"He lived next door to my family, where you visited that time. he was very nice to me, and I... sought him, after he left. he asked me to tell him where you lived, and so, I brought him here."

Cosette smiled at the undertone in the other girl's voice, though she wondered if that was the proper reaction, and laughed a little, prettily. Having been treated to this phenomenon more than once this evening, Eponine reflected that she rather liked the sound.

"Ah, I see how it is! You are in love with him too!" Eponine looked up at Cosette's face.

"So you are in love with him." What a melancholy tone she wore! And she had not made it a question. There were two ways Cosette's reply could have been interpreted; which was more valid was a mystery even to it's author, who smiled all the more. Some small part of her, trembling rapturously in it's corner, told her that she was going mad.

"Monsieur Marius is very dear. But am I in love with him? I really cannot say. I do not think that I have ever been in love. What is love, anyway?" She sighed arily.

"He is in love with you." Said Eponine sullenly.

"And you are in love with him?" Eponine looked at Cosette's face once more. _Cosette_ had made it a question. That there was indeed one now was reflected in Eponine's eyes, heartbreakingly sad. She seemed as one who has been kicked many times over hand is resignedly expecting another kick. Cosette recoiled from such melancholy, and also her heart went out to it.

"You ask this...? Well, I think perhaps that I have been. But there is another question... you do not ask? I will answer it; if I might not be in love with you?"

"Oh!" Cried Cosette. This response, alone, might have caused Eponine great despair, for the answer lay in the question, and there was truly nothing further Cosette needed to ask. Fortunately the exclamation came not unaccompanied. For in Eponine's words Cosette discovered, to mutual delight, the opportunity that she had subconsciously still sought. By the time that the kissing found pause, Cosette was so sodden through that she might as well have been bare as Eponine. Apparently, this had occurred to both. their pause in kissing allowed Eponine liberty to rise (her skin had become a tad prunish from sitting in the water), and for Cosette, with some small aid, to remove her useless, soaked shift.

That was the first night Cosette had slept without a proper nightdress since she had been rescued by Jean Valjean; Eponine, on the other hand, was used to it. It had, however, been almost as long since she had lain in a proper bed-- and never before with such amiable and sweet company.


	4. The disposition of a nightengale and a l...

**Part IV**: disposition of a nightingale and a lark come breakfast time.   


The ensuing night and morning had quite a bit in common with a convent slumber party held in the house of a lord, right down to Cosette, frenzied, attempting to shove a hysterical Eponine under the bed as Toussaint knocked anxiously at the door. 

"M-madmoiselle? B-breakfast!"

"Un Moment Toussaint!" She sang out sweetly, at last sending Eponine darting, a tanned streak, into the toilette as she desperately tried to smother her infectious giggles. "Oh Toussaint, _do_ come in!"

The maid opened the door and shuffled into the chamber; oblivious to the renewed flurry of giggles hidden beneath her mistress's hand. She had the covers up to her neck, to hide what she was not wearing, and half feigned an expression of weary illness. The half was this: in good faith, the girl _was_ exhausted, and not some little flushed.

"I have a guest, my dear, a friend from my old school. If you will set another place for breakfast?"

"Cert-tainly, M-mademois-selle." Replied Toussaint without a blink, but with a slight note of concern... Cosette **did** look a bit feverish at that! "I H-have your w-wash and shall i b-bring up extra t-towels?"

"That will not be necessary, merci." Toussaint shuffled out. So did Cosette's giggles. And so did Eponine's head, from the bathroom.

"Friend from...!?" Eponine asked, eyebrows flirting dangerously with her scalp in both amusement and alarm. Cosette laughed and wriggled under the covers. 

"Yes, the Convent school in which I grew up. You speak well enough to imitate a bourgeois... we'll simply tell father that you left before taking your vows, some time before I did, and I met you on a walk or some other such; then invited you to stay with me last night. And tonight, if you wish, also." She grinned and let the cover slip from he shoulders. Eponine, shy and aghast, shuffled slowly out from the toilette; she was dressed in Cosette's slip, only slightly less damp than the night before.

"In case the maid had come in." she explained, a bit embarrassed. Cosette laughed and clapped her hands.

"Come, we'll get you a fresh one, dearest 'Ponine." She swept out of the bed and kissed the girl quickly on the cheek, then set about the task of finding suitable dry undergarments and dresses for them both. Eponine was indeed a good deal smaller and thinner than Cosette, but the latter did have some quite pretty frocks, which she'd outgrown, that fit Eponine very well, though attempting to get them on the girl proved an adventure in itself.

Cosette; having had no one to teach her the secrets and tricks of woman's apparel herself, was both delighted and immensely frustrated to have such a pupil as Eponine. Stays and garters, in particular, were the source of much wry amusement on the part of the gamine, who confessed;

"Really, what's the use of all of these extra barriers? Cosette, Cherie, you're doing it all backwards!" And then she would subsequently un-fasten the corresponding doo-hicky on her blushing instructor, who just didn't quite have the heart to scold her for it; but rather laughed and kissed the offending hand. Eponine sighed thoughtfully at this, musing, 

"_Mais alors_-- these cursed layers may seem in the way here, but I daresay they'd prove useful sometime. Anyone who didn't know how to get them on should have a devil of a time, trying to get them off!" And she laughed deeply, with a wink. Cosette laughed too, and blushed a very dark pink, understanding that Eponine had said something risqué but not in the slightest fathoming what. 

By and by, Cosette and Eponine arrived downstairs to a half-cold breakfast and Monsieur Fauchelevant's benign patience. 

"Papa! You have been waiting." Cosette scolded brightly as her father rose from his seat to greet them. The young lady flounced up to him and planted a kiss on his rough cheek, which made him smile. "You should have at least had a cup of tea or some marmalade."

"Marmalade, my dear?" bushy white eyebrows framed an expression of amused astonishment. "But I never eat marmalade."

Cosette shot a mischievously long-suffering look at Eponine. "Ah, I never win with him." She reached out for Eponine's hand. "Papa, I would like you to meet an old, old friend of mine from school, Eponine Lambert. Her family is from the country and she is come to Paris for a visit. She left school not long before ourselves, and I must confess I had despaired of ever seeing her again!" 

She smiled rapturously at Eponine and squeezed her hand, for it was trembling. Sweetly Cosette led the waif to her father, who kissed her paternally on the forehead.

"It's is very good to meet you, my dear." The old man smiled, and bade Eponine sit between himself and Cosette. Once seated, Eponine exhaled deeply in relief, only to have her lungs clench again as M. Fauchelevant continued, "Tell me Mademoiselle, how did you manage to locate us? It has been quite a number of years since my daughter and yourself were girls at the convent, and we are somewhat out of the way."

Eponine glanced quickly at Cosette, who smiled cheerfully. Swallowing, Eponine summoned her best Bourgeois-posh tone, at the very top of her register.

"Well, Monsieur, it was really Cosette who found me. You see, my brother is a student at university; I am come to Paris visiting him. He was at classes yesterday, and so not at liberty to install me straightway in a hotel, and so left me to amuse myself at the shops. His flat is not terribly far from here, and I was passing-- well, it was really rather bad of me, but I am much more fond of walking than of fiacrès-- on my way to meet him. Then, I heard someone calling me, and I had no idea who it could have been, but _tiens_! It was my old, old friend Cosette, waving through a garden gate! We spoke a while, and when I told her of my situation-- my brother's landlady does not allow girls of any sort in the rooms, and quite rightly too!-- she was kind enough to insist that I stay here in your lovely home, and not in some impersonal hotel room. My brother was only too pleased to agree; lodgings suitable for ladies are not inexpensive. But of course, Monsieur may object." She added the last hesitantly, but Monsieur seemed quite satisfied. 

"No, I do not object." he smiled, pressing Eponine's hand. "I think it good that Cosette should have a girl-friend."

The remark was blasé, but Eponine still thought smugly, how little he knows! before nearly melting in relief. She'd been quite terrified that the old philanthropist would have recognized the urchin that had lured him so fatally to Fabantou-Jondrette-Thénardier's apartment, however long ago that had been. She had been, however, a good deal more successful than she had realized in breaking the habit of argot in speech; she sounded like nothing so much as a rather lower-middle class girl of decent manners. 

Monsieur Fauchelevant spooned up the last of a cold boiled egg. "So, Mademoiselle Eponine, where in the country do your parents live?" Eponine's blood froze, as did Cosette's beside her. They had not discussed that. Eponine hoped that the old man attributed her undoubtedly Parisian accent to her upbringing in the Convent School (a Convent! She still guffawed inwardly at the thought of that), in the Petit-Pipcus. Quickly, she blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Montfermiel, Monsieur. Outside of Montfermiel, really." She added hastily, "I mean, my family owns land in that general area."

"I see." If M. Fauchelevent was at all disturbed by the mention of the town from which he had liberated Cosette, he showed no sign of it. "So. What does your brother study, at the University?"

"Law." She replied unhesitatingly. "He is in his third year. He is marrying a girl from home as soon as he graduates, and opening his own law practice, God willing." She invented the last on the spur of the moment, making a stab at the root of this particular line of inquiry.

The guess proved a good one, as the old man smiled broadly at this. "Wish him my luck, Mademoiselle." having finished his breakfast, M. Fauchelevant stood and bowed to the young ladies. 

"It is good, Mademoiselle, that you will be staying here. I shall be gone for a short time and it will be good for Cosette to have to company. Are you three days at liberty?" 

"Oh yes, Monsieur. My brother will be quite glad to have me out of the way, and to save the cost of the hotel. He has many important papers to write, you know."

"Of course." He smiled again at her. "Very good. If you two will excuse me?" 

"Papa! you are not going away again!? So soon?" Cosette sprang to her feet with an exclamation and a pout.

"I am afraid I must, my dear Cosette. I have some business that I must conclude. Ladies." He bowed again, and, after several petulantly refused attempts, was finally permitted to kiss Cosette's forehead, and exit the room into the backyard. Eponine exhaled heavily, and, after watching him go Cosette grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"Oh Eponine! I am always so lonely when Papa is away." She cast a forlorn look at the door into the backyard, then turned hopefully again to her friend. "You truly meant it...?"

"Oh!" Eponine squeezed her hand in return, "I did and I do! What else have I to do?" She said the last with a wicked gleam in her eye. Cosette mocked offense, allowing her dismay at her father's news to dissipate. The exchange would have ended in kisses if not for the proximity of Toussaint, clearing the table. Instead they settled for laughter, brushed fingers, and glances that promised much, later.

"Sh-Shall I have a r-room m-made up f-for Mademoiselle Ep-ponine?" Asked the maid when she had finished, unwittingly casting a cloud over the girls' jocularity.

"That will not be necessary." Replied Cosette, as coolly as she could, "We have so much to catch up on... it will be most pleasant, to have a three night sleep-over. Don't you think that sounds pleasurable, Toussaint?" Eponine gaped and Cosette's composure broke for the space of a giggle, but Toussaint was oblivious.

"Very n-nice, Mademoiselle. H-has Mademoiselle Ep-ponine any b-bags or P-Parcels?" Fortunately, it had been so long since Cosette had worn the frock Eponine had on, Toussaint did not recognise it. Eponine's expression turned to panic, Cosette's was unruffled.

"They are at her brother's flat." 

Eponine, an older hand at this game, added, "I had very little, really. It is of no consequence."

Cosette was not to be outdone, "She had expected to go shopping, here in the city, and brought mostly empty space in her bags." Eponine regarded Cosette with an expression of frank admiration. 

Toussaint, only vaguely catching the conversation enough to decide that it seemed all to fit, nodded briefly and replied, "A-as you S-say, Mademoiselle." Then, she shuffled out, after her manner. The girls, feeling terrible and bold, collapsed in a flurry of giggles and delight. 


	5. A rose in ecstacy; a rose in bloom.

**part V: A rose in ecstacy, a rose in bloom.**

In the course of the afternoon, Cosette and Eponine behaved as any other girl-comrades would. They experimented with hair and clothes, talked of a million insignifigances and a modicum of profundities, and read, (Eponine being at least somewhat literate, and Cosette being a patient and encouraging tutor) to each other from books of poetry. When Toussaint was not too near, they would speak of things past and of more import-- Montfermeil, the Thénardier's ruin and move to Paris, of Eponine's demi-relationship with Monteparnasse, ("you're not a virgin!?" Exclaimed Cosette, for which she got a blink and a blush), How Azelma's hand had come to be cut when Cosette and her father had come, ("How dreadful!" She cried, and kissed Eponine's hand), about Eponine's real brothers and, at length, of Monsieur Marius Pontmercy.

"Oh dear," Cosette bit a finger in consternation, "He will come again tonight, I am sure of it."

"What will you do?" Eponine was uneasy. 

"See him, I suppose." Cosette, too, was rather nervous. She had shown Eponine the letter he had written her; the girl had sighed after, and said nothing. Although they had lauded together the young man's virtues, seemingly unaware that he had any faults, their hearts were restless. Of the two, Eponine was the better off.

_He will never love me,_ she thought to herself, _And I cannot stay here forever._ That there was anything odd or untoward in her feelings for Cosette did not occur to her. Marriage was a word she dared not think for herself; as far away as castles and princes. _Misere est mon trousseau_, after all, and stranger things have happened. So she was resigned to a passing brief happiness, and with this, was tolerably satisfied. 

Cosette, on the other hand, had stumbled into a quandary. It must be understood that while Eponine, not being a maid herself, did not question the morality of their actions together, for Cosette, her virtue and so, her very future rested on it. Her knowledge of life and anatomy far from complete (Cosette's dreams were more fancy than university), She was dimly aware that the ardor of the night had, more than likely, taken with it her virginity. To her knowledge, the making of love meant the surrender of that modest token, and she felt that the term applied. She could certainly not claim sisterly affection for Eponine-- as Venus bore Eros no-- and herein lay the difficulty. She felt for Eponine as if the other girl were a man-- as if she were Marius the night before, to tell the truth. That said, she certainly _had_ lain with Eponine, in a manner that _meant_, she believed, wedlock.

_But how can I have lain with her?_ Thought Cosette helplessly, _We are not married!_. The thought that intruded next-- that being out of wedlock, what she had done to Eponine was rape-- she dismissed that thought with a curse she hadn't known she knew. Rape was a crime, and crime was not a word she would permit to be thought for this, this... whatever it was. 

But somewhere in her mind, Cossette equated virginity with being unmarried, and, as she _was_ yet unmarried-- as far as she could fathom, and as far as the public was concerned-- reassured herself on that point. Which left two questions, at least:

Just what _had_ she done with Eponine?

And _what_ About Marius?

Once again the silence was broken by Eponine, who had thought of a question. 

She asked, "Cosette... do you love me?"

Ah! _That_ word. If Cosette had thought it possible for Marius, she knew it for Eponine. The question shocked her some, and she answered in a voice like a startled bird." "Yes... yes, I most certainly do!!" Eponine did not reply in words, but rather with a hasty look to see in Toussaint was coming, and then with a soft kiss upon Cosette's little mouth.

_No, never a sister,_ thought Cosette, grasping somehow that whatever this was, it was much more and more serious than the games between girls in the back room of an inn, playing at romance, or two comrades squirming together late at night in a convent. Something had settled like a seed at the bottom of her heart, and begun to grow. It had budded with Marius' letter, and Eponine had made it bloom. In barely a night, Jean Valjean's gentle rose had grown scarlet, and the first thorns were beginning to show. 


End file.
